Below the Surface
by godtierGrammarian
Summary: Something about not being the pawns of a scripted fate. Something about invisible ties. Something about life. Something about loving her more than he thought possible. / gaius/f!avatar.


The first time he sees her, she's a dark blur on the other side of the battlefield, a shadow of a woman flitting behind the blue-haired prince. She's a wisp in a dark cloak, her eyes a little too hard, her face a little too pale. Her lips are pressed together in a crisp line, and at the sounds of distant battle she grips the hilt of her sword a little too tight.

She's a sparse landscape, this woman. A field that was forced to provide too many harvests in a row, now barren and empty and burning. She's rock and ash and steel, the scent of smoke, red lines left on hands where fingernails are dug too deep into the palms.

But when his allegiance is bought with a bag of candies and a promise of more where that came from, he notices her hide a smile behind her hand, the first flicker of real warmth she's shown. And that's when he knows there's hope for her yet. A spring bubbling up in barren ground.

So when she says, "I'm Renka," he files that away under "Bubbles" in his mind.

A reminder that there's always something hidden away below the surface.

.

.

.

Her hair's the color of cotton candy. He can't get over that. Somehow the gods conspired to create this being and they said to each other, "Let's put cotton candy on her head, only, you know, as hair."

Well, maybe it didn't go exactly like that, but still. He can't get over the compulsion to bury his face in that hair. It probably smells sweet, even. It looks feather-soft, tossed in the breath of wind that courses over the plain that's serving as their current encampment.

He watches that hair blow in her face as she attempts to discuss strategy with their commander, the pages of her book fluttering in the breeze. Then a sudden gust snatches a few loose pages from her, and he stifles a snicker as she chases after them, a curse slipping from her lips before she can stop it.

He digs in his pocket for a chocolate and thinks he could've done a better job sewing that book together. Maybe he'll help her put the pages back once she's got them all back.

But then again, he'd be too tempted to bury his face in that hair.

(He knows he doesn't liken Sumia's hair to chocolate cream, or Sully's to a cherry tart. He _knows_ it's not the same for them.)

(But he won't tell anyone that.)

.

.

.

He knows what it's like to have something to hide. But apparently they're not about to have any secrets with each other.

She barges into his tent one day, not quite paying attention. Paying enough attention to notice him in his smallclothes, the incriminating tattoo on his arm.

She has enough decency to apologize, first a flurry of words as she retreats, then a pastry of contrition when she approaches him about it later. Much as he appreciates the pastry, it's just another thing he has to pay her back for, and no matter how she argues, he insists she accept some strategy books and a pendant—the books for his secret, and the pendant for the pastry, since both were homemade and much-appreciated.

She accepts his gifts but finally entrusts him with a secret, something so deep, dark, and horrifyingly embarrassing it has to be true. He takes that secret and keeps it close to his heart, and she keeps the pendant close to hers.

He can't help but feel a little warmer when he sees his handiwork gleaming at the base of her throat.

Later, he manages to convince her to accept another gift.

He presses the ring into her hands and promises dumbly that he'll steal her heart on a daily basis, but she's already burying her face in his chest, shaking her head.

"You already do," she murmurs into his chest, and he finally— _finally!_ —buries his face in that hair.

"Good," he replies, and he knows it's stupid, but it's all he has words for right now.

Good.

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.

She approaches him after battle one day, and her grin is so wide and terrifying that he knows she's got some dirt on him.

"Booger Brain?" she quirks an eyebrow up, a smile devouring her entire face.

He scrunches his face in indignation. Olivia betrayed him, apparently. That's probably what he gets for divulging sacred secrets to his wife's best friend.

Honest Gaius. Honestly.

But Renka's laughing almost so hard she can't breathe, and he lets out a breath and all his hurt with it.

It's about time she had a nickname for him.

It's about time she had something to laugh about.

"C'mere," he says, and she falls, laughing, into his arms.

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.

.

Nothing against her, but if the Shepherds had to vote anyone as the worst candidate for motherhood, she'd probably top the list (Tharja would arguably beat her, but no one would ever be brave enough to put the dark sorceress on the ballot).

It's just that Renka's just so severe and distant and she holds grudges forever. She's a decent cook but goes almost all day without eating sometimes (he's forced to press sweets into her hands when she passes him, just to see her eat something) and she can sleep through anything, including thunderstorms and Frederick's training bell. She's snappish on good days and no one dares get within a five-yard radius of her on bad days.

Except Gaius, who wades through the cloud of frustration and hurt and fear, who gathers her up in his arms and lets her stay there until all her sharp edges melt away. Because he believes in the softness she keeps hidden below the surface.

Still, no one believes her reaction to seeing a little redheaded thief across the ruined battlefield one day. She takes to that boy immediately, and it's almost as if she recognizes him from some place in her heart, some mother's instinct waking up inside her, turning her blood to fire in her veins. She cuts down every enemy in her path and sticks to his side like glue, worrying over him incessantly though no sword, lance, or axe seems to faze him, not even a little bit.

The boy's name is Morgan, and Renka loves him almost more than she loves her husband. But Gaius can't bring himself to be hurt over that. It's a different kind of love she keeps for Morgan, and Gaius would be lying if he said he didn't feel something similar for his son as she did.

Something about keeping him safe, keeping him warm and well-fed and happy, though Morgan usually manages that last one pretty well on his own. What a little ball of sunshine. Gaius almost can't believe something that optimistic sprung from his loins. Still, it's pretty neat to see the kid take a Risen down in one shot and still be energetic enough to have a go at another before he's done.

Something about being proud of that kid. His kid.

Isn't that something.

He just wishes his own folks would've understood this.

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.

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It's the end of the world and he almost thinks the darkness has her but he calls her name and she answers and it's the worst kind of relief to have her back at his side.

But she's bound and determined to take down that damned dragon by herself, even though she knows what the price will be.

"It's too much," he tells her, finding her hands and lacing his fingers through hers, hoping she'll understand this is what she's giving up, this feeling of his heartbeat against hers.

But she just smiles at him and untangles her hands from his, and the next thing he knows she's fading, she's fading and then she's gone.

Just...gone.

And Grima is dead and the world is saved but damn, at what price?

He doesn't really know how to comfort Morgan after that, so he just puts his arms around his son and they both cry, and for once he doesn't care who sees his tears. Everyone else is crying, anyway.

Time passes and he searches. He searches for her because Chrom's determined that she'll come back. But he's seen death firsthand. They all have. Cut down a brigand and he doesn't get back up. Hang a criminal and he just swings from the rope. Stick a sword through your own gut and you get what you wanted all along.

Nobody can overcome that. No matter how much she loved him, nobody can overcome that.

Something stirs deep within him. Something about not being the pawns of a scripted fate. Something about invisible ties. Something about life.

But he doesn't really believe it.

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* * *

 **A/N: Yes hello apparently I decided there wasn't enough Gaius angst. You're welcome.**

 **Featuring Renka, my second-run tactician. Named for the singer who did Hitori Omou in Fates. Build 2, face 1, hair 3, hair color 16.**


End file.
